


Sickdays 3.0 Day 6: Some Regrets

by occasionalspiderfiction (SemiRetiredAuthor), sickficlurker (SemiRetiredAuthor)



Series: Peter Needs a Spider-Sitter [1]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruises, Concussions, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Vomiting, Whump, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiRetiredAuthor/pseuds/occasionalspiderfiction, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiRetiredAuthor/pseuds/sickficlurker
Summary: Slight canon divergence in Homecoming where Peter doesn't just brush off face-planting onto a building.





	Sickdays 3.0 Day 6: Some Regrets

Peter is still training as a superhero, but he _does_ consider himself a near master of webbing from building to building a solid ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s just that pesky one percent that still bothers him, but it also keeps him grounded and reminds him not to get too cocky. It’s not usually an issue if he’s honest; either he was leaping high enough to have time to shoot another web, or the jump is low enough that it doesn’t hurt much.

That’s not how it goes today. He realizes too late in a thirty foot drop that his web didn’t reach far enough to make contact, and that’s all he has time to think before he lands on his stomach with an involuntary, “Oomph!”

He lays there for what could’ve been two seconds or several minutes before he notices he’s not sucking in the air his body wants anymore. Is he dying? He fell kind of hard, he supposes, but it seems like he can remember having worse. Well, shit. He hopes he’s not dying. Aunt May will never find him on top of this stupid apartment building. Actually, he really, really doesn’t want to die anyway. He’s shaking thinking about it. Hopefully no one will realize he was shivering in fear in his final moments. It makes him feel more like a child than a superhero.

He focuses on actively trying to take a deep breath, but all that happens is a quiet wheeze that doesn’t get much air to his lungs. It’s something, but it’s not enough. His body hurts in response, but not quite in his lungs. It’s more his head and the right side of his abdomen. It makes him not want to try that again, but he’d also very much like to be able to breathe, thank you very much, so he tries again only to get another wheeze and a little more air than before.

A third attempt finally brings the breath he’s been desperate for. He feels like yelling in relief at cheating death, but he’d rather use all his breath for just quietly breathing at the moment so he resists the urge. He absently notes that he really needs to work on his medical knowledge if he’s going to keep leaping from building to building and fighting bad guys.

He’s cut off from his happy reunion with fresh air by a heave that jostles his side way too hard, and he pushes his mask above his nose before shoving himself onto shaky hands and knees to gain some distance from the rush of vomit that’s about to follow. His mind feels sluggish while it’s happening, but he realizes he’d been nauseous all along and just hadn’t thought about it before it came to a head.

One harsh gag is all it takes before he goes right back to the sensation of not breathing, and he knows it shouldn’t but it still scares him all over again. He doesn’t want to feel like this so soon, he’s still not over the first time, he’s not _ready_.

Then, almost as soon as it started, it’s over and he’s breathing and it’s okay. There’s a small puddle of vomit below him, and the acidic aftertaste coats his mouth, and it’s just plain gross, but he can _breathe_. He notices he’s crying and that becomes sobbing and he can’t figure out whether it’s from the panic or the sheer physical force he’d unintentionally put into throwing up. He gasps and hiccups uncontrollably. He’s glad no one is around to see him shaking like mad and crying over a little vomit.

He barely gags at all the next time and more vomit is quietly coming up with no warning and he hates it, but it’s not as bad as the first time. _You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay._ He keeps reminding himself in a mantra. His breath came back before, and it’ll come back this time.

He spends who-knows-how-long occasionally gasping around unproductive sobs, gags, and retches and hates every moment of it, but it comes to an end eventually. He’s still gasping, and he’s pretty sure he’s just panicking at this point. Probably. The nausea looms in the background, but he doesn’t feel like he could puke at any moment anymore.

He leans back into a sitting position with his legs bent and splayed to the sides and wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his suit. Spandex isn’t exactly the best material for this, but he makes do. Seeing the suit grounds him and reminds him that he was patrolling. He’s pushed through illness and injury before, but he really doesn’t feel up for that today. Part of him thinks he’s just being weak. Another part screams that he deserves a break sometimes. He doesn’t listen to that part often, but who is he to deny it now? Admittedly, the still sharp pain at the center of his forehead and along his side are major deciding factors.

He half-regrets going on this patrol. He just wants to go home and forget this ever happened. His body disagrees with that plan; his side aches even more and his legs tremble and fail him the two times he tries to pull himself to his feet. Now he’s dizzy too, so he stays as still as possible, blinking at nothing in particular until the buildings around him don’t seem to be closing in on him and he can easily read the nearby signs again. One marks the entrance to a small pizza place that makes him pause to consider whether he’s more hungry or nauseous. He supposes it doesn’t matter much. It’s not like he even has the energy to get to the restaurant or the money to buy anything.

He huffs in frustration and crawls over to the half wall at one edge of the roof instead of trying to stand again. If he can’t go home yet, he’s at least going to have something vaguely comfortable to lean against while he rests his eyes and maybe catches a quick nap.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series with two of the other Sickdays prompts, but I thought I'd post this one early since it's ready to go! Expect a little buildup to platonic Ned & Peter in the remaining parts because we don't see enough of those two.


End file.
